


to face unafraid, the plans that we've made

by Sway



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-06
Updated: 2010-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sway/pseuds/Sway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur makes Christmas for Eames</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks go out to [](http://laughing-lovers.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://laughing-lovers.livejournal.com/)**laughing_lovers** for battling this fic into submission aka doing the beta work. Any remaining mistakes are my very own.

Snowflakes landed with wet splotches on Eames’ face as he made his way up the footpath towards the house. It was a difficult endeavor in knee-high snow and by the time he reached the porch, his pants were all but frozen solid all the way up to his thighs.

If he hadn't been so busy shaking off most of the snow before unlocking the door, he would have noticed the pair of tire treads leading up to the garage. As soon as he was inside, he shed his parka, leaving it in a damp heap on the floor. He was about to pull off his boots when he heard a clatter coming from the kitchen. His hand went to the gun in his shoulder holster out of pure reflex.

The Chicago safe-house was one of those typical suburban family homes. Little did the soccer moms next door know about the bunch of criminals who holed up there every now and then.

The living room was on the immediate left of the front door, the huge folding doors closed, the dining room was to the right. Eames made a careful step to his right, unfastening the security strap of his holster. Soft light pooled below the swinging door that lead to the kitchen, which was most startling since the house was supposed to be empty. They had finished the last job in Barcelona two days ago and weren't supposed to meet up in Los Angeles until after Christmas.

Eames pulled his gun and flicked off the safety. As he crept closer to the door (which wasn't the easiest task in wet boots on hardwood floor), he heard music. Christmas music. And someone was singing along.

"Get your bloody hands up where I can see them," he barked as he pushed the door open with his elbow, firearm raised, pointed at the intruder.

Something in the shape of a reindeer went flying from Arthur’s hand to where it shattered against the fridge.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Arthur stared at him, wide-eyed. His raised hands were stuck in red and white checkered mittens (matching his apron), and he was holding a spatula.

"Arthur?" Eames still held him at gunpoint. "What are you doing here?"

"I am baking," Arthur replied matter-of-factly. "Now, can you put that away, please?" With the spatula, he gestured at the gun.

Eames flicked the safety back on, then secured the gun in his holster. He made a step forward and let the swing door fall shut behind him, drinking in the sight before him.

The kitchen was clattered with pots, pans, bowls and various other kitchen equipment. A baking sheet full of reindeer shaped cookies lay on the kitchen counter in front of Arthur. Apparently, he had caught him in the middle of placing the cookies on a grid to cool when he had pulled the gun on him.

"I can see that you're baking." Eames couldn't quite keep the smirk from his voice. "Why are you doing it here? I thought you were on a flight to Vancouver."

"They had a blizzard up in Canada and the flight got canceled. Chicago was the only available flight out."

Eames’ eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest. "You're lying."

Arthur looked at him for a moment longer before his shoulders sagged in defeat. "You're right." He tossed the spatula on the counter along with the mittens. "This wasn't supposed to be like this."

"You've got to give me a little more than that, I'm afraid. I'm not quite catching on."

"You weren't supposed to be here until 8:30 but obviously you took an earlier flight which I forgot to check on," Arthur explained.

Or he tried to explain, as Eames still wasn't quite following. "Arthur, what is this?"

The young man rolled his eyes, gesturing at the mess around him. "I was going to surprise you." He sounded a lot less confident than usual. In fact, Eames had hardly ever seen Arthur like this, nervous and almost flailing for words. "There's turkey in the fridge, ready to be warmed up. I was going to make roast potatoes and carrots and these," he pointed at the cookies, "were supposed to be covered with chocolate by the time you'd get here."

Eames stared at him in disbelief. "You... you were going to make a Christmas dinner? For me?"

Arthur smiled weakly, disappointed. "Surprise." He went to pick up the pieces of the somersaulting reindeer. "I know you always go to one of these Christmas parties, so if you'd rather do that, I guess the food will stay good until tomorrow." If he tried to keep the resignation from his voice, he didn't succeed.

"I thought you hated Christmas," Eames said, rather lamely. He still couldn't believe neither his eyes nor his ears. For a brief moment, he considered reaching into his pocket for his totem but he fought it back.

"I don't," Arthur responded, taking a bite off the cookie-antlers. He was stalling, Eames could tell. "It's just that... I don't have any immediate family so... I'm always alone on Christmas. And since you don't have any family that I know of, I thought we could..."

Eames crossed the room in three long strides, pinned him against the fridge, sending magnets and take-out menus flying, and shut him up with a kiss.

Arthur melted (pardon the pun) against him, wrapping an arm around his neck. He was about to respond to the kiss, when Eames pulled back from him.

"If you didn't sound an awful lot like a stalker, that argument would almost be cute." A smile quirked Eames’ lips and he licked a cookie crumb off the corner of his mouth.

Arthur looked at him, eyes shining with a hint of... insecurity. "So..." He let the word trail off, not quite making it a question.

"So...," Eames mimicked him teasingly, "I'll go upstairs, take a quick shower and change before I get frostbite while you finish your cookies." He placed another kiss to Arthur's mouth, capturing more of the cookie taste. "And then we'll eat. I'm starving."

 

*

Dressed in black sweats and a gray knitted sweater, Eames padded downstairs half an hour later. His thawing parka was now dangling from a hanger on the wardrobe, molten snow pooling beneath it. He scooped up a small clump of ice, then tiptoed into the kitchen.

Arthur was digging through one of the cupboards, apparently searching for one of the very few kitchen utensils that wasn't strewn over any available surface. The shirt he wore beneath his sweater had slipped from his waistband, leaving part of his back bare and vulnerable.

With a devious grin, Eames dropped the ice on the sliver of exposed skin.

Arthur yelped, jerked and banged his head on the inside of the cupboard. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" he spat at Eames as he emerged again, rubbing the back of his head. "Were you trying to give me a heart attack? On Christmas?"

Eames couldn't help but laugh. "I'm sorry, darlin'. You just made it too easy."

"To what? Kill me?"

As an offering of peace, Eames held out a hand and pulled Arthur to his feet. The other man still glowered at him but his anger quickly dissipated, as Eames trailed a series of open-mouthed kisses along his jawline before planting a quick peck on his lips.

"Let me see." Eames grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around to have a look at the injury. He brushed Arthur's hand away, running gentle fingers over the back of his head. If anything, the only damage was done to Arthur's immaculate hair style. As gentle as Eames knew how, he blew over the spot were one tiny strand of hair was out of place. "There now... all better."

He wrapped his arms around Arthur, pulling him back against his chest. Their eyes met in the reflection of the window over the sink. "You know I'd never hurt you," he murmured directly into his ear in that low voice that made Arthur literally squirm. "Unless you ask me to."

Arthur disentangled himself from his grasp, straightening his clothes and his hair, making it a point to wince when his fingers brushed over the not-a-concussion. The strangest look flickered across his face, a mixture of a glare, uncertainty, gentleness and mild annoyance. He cleared his throat before he spoke. "See if you can find the potato masher. I forgot to put something on the tree."

Before Arthur could dash out of the kitchen, Eames' hand closed around his wrist. "Wait, there's a tree, too?"

Arthur shrugged with one shoulder. "Well, yeah. But you can't look yet." A blush crept on his face before he quickly sobered. "You're not... secretly Jewish, are you?"

Eames quirked an eyebrow, the devious grin reappearing. "Wouldn't you know?"

The blush on Arthur's cheeks deepened along with his dimples. "Right." He pulled away from Eames, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'll be right back. And don't you dare eat one of the cookies. I've counted them."

"Of course, you have." Eames winked at him. "Arthur." The other man stopped halfway out the door. "What's going on with you? I've never seen you like this."

"Like what?"

"Flailing."

Arthur opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. It took him another try to finally speak. "I didn't know if you'd like this or if you'd think it was stupid. Not knowing things makes me uncomfortable."

Something clenched inside of Eames' chest and he drew in a shaky breath which was (much to his own discomfort) entirely too audible. "Well, you’ve got nothing to worry about." This time his smile was genuine. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

If he didn't know Arthur any better, he would have called the grin on his face as giddy. But Arthur didn't do giddy. And then, Eames had never expected him to do Christmas either. For him. Exclusively.

They had never spent any of the Holidays together. Mostly because they were almost always working, together or continents apart. And to some degree, because their undefined relationship status (if “relationship” was even applicable) didn't allow for shared Holidays. Not that the lack of a proper name tag on their... whatever had ever stopped them from getting together, locking some hotel room door behind and shag each other deaf, dumb and blind for days on end.

But Holidays were something different. Neither of them had yet dared to address the awkwardness, the intimacy and familiarity that came with asking the other to spend the Holidays together. And here they were, plunging headfirst into trees and cookies and mashed potatoes.

And gifts. A proper Christmas needed gifts. Eames knew there was probably nothing that could make up for what Arthur had done here but he had to come up with something. Quickly.

To call Arthur picky would be an understatement. The mere acquirement of a cup of coffee was a challenge for every barista. Coming up a with a decent Christmas gift on the fly was nearly impossible. But Eames did remember something he had seen online not long ago. And more importantly, he had seen the look on Arthur’s face when he had seen it.

Eames needed to call in a favor. He had to make a phone call.

 

*

"This smells delicious." Eames practically bounced on the balls of his feet as he entered the kitchen again.

The turkey pieces were re-heating in the oven, the potatoes were boiling on the stove along with a pot of carrots, and Arthur was stirring in a small saucepan.

"Thanks. Should be done in about twenty minutes." Arthur glanced over his shoulder, then reached for one of the spice dispensers, sprinkling some of it into the sauce. He stirred it some more, then stuck his pinkie finger into a spoonful of it. "This won't taste right. Something's missing but I can't tell what it is."

He was about to have another try, when Eames caught his wrist and sucked his finger into his mouth.

Arthur's eyes flickered shut and a tiny little moan escaped his lips. Eames sucked in his cheeks as he pulled back, making the innuendo all the more obvious. With a little plop he pulled Arthur's finger from his mouth.

"Needs more pepper," he said then, unperturbed.

Arthur withdrew his hand from Eames' grip, fingers curling into a fist in front of his chest. "It'll be too hot." His voice was shaking audibly.

"I like it hot," Eames drawled, pressing up against Arthur's back, distracting him even more from his cooking. "Just try it."

Arthur puffed out a breath, trying to shake off the arousal. Then he reached for the pepper mill, twisted the top two, three times, stirred the sauce and tried it again. He nodded in appreciation. "You're right. That _is_ better."

"Told you."

"Since when do you know anything about cooking, Eames?"

"I don't." Eames' hand closed around his elbow and he turned Arthur around towards him. "I just now what tastes good."

This time, their kiss was slow and gentle.

Eames cupped the side of Arthur's face, feeling the hint of a five o'clock shadow beneath his fingertips. He tilted his head to one side, the tip of his tongue teasing Arthur's mouth open.

Before the kiss could deepen any further, Arthur pulled back from him. He still had his eyes closed and when he looked at Eames, seeming slightly dazed. "At this rate, dinner is never going to be ready."

"Alright, I think I can keep my hands off you for little longer."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

Eames pressed a quick peck against Arthur's temple before taking a step back. "Is there any thing I can do to help?"

"You can open the wine and set the table."

"That, indeed, I can."

 

*

A jazz Christmas CD was playing in the background while they ate. Neither of them said a word.

It was a comfortable silence in which they just enjoyed good food and wine and each others presence.

When Eames was done, he washed down the last of the carrots with a sip of his wine, then wiped the corners of his mouth with the napkin. As he looked up, he caught Arthur staring down at his plate, a dreamy little smile making his cheeks dimple.

"What are you smiling about?" Eames nudged Arthur's foot with his and the young man snapped out of his reverie, fork clattering on the plate.

"What?" It took a second for the question to register. "Nothing. I wasn't smiling."

"Yes, you were. You had the same look when we got the new PASIV last month, all dreamy eyed and spaced out."

"I was not...," Arthur started to protest, but apparently thought better of it. "Even if I was smiling, which I'm not saying I was, I am not telling you now."

"Arthur...," Eames drew out the name in that low, molten chocolate voice, at the same time running his foot up Arthur's pant leg.

"Stop it." Arthur rose, picking up the plates to bring them back to the kitchen. "I'm not telling."

"Suit yourself." Eames reached for his wine, grinning his most seductive grin around the rim of the glass, one eyebrow quirked to make the point. "I assume there is dessert?"

Arthur glowered at him but he saw the glint in his eyes. "Just for that, I should donate it to the Salvation Army."

"Oh come on. I have needs too."

One eyebrow raised in annoyance, Arthur kicked the swinging door open with his heel and disappeared into the kitchen.

"So?" Eames called after him.

"Christmas pudding," Arthur replied.

"You are my favorite person right now." Eames couldn't stop a goofy grin from creeping on his face. He rose and stuck his head into the kitchen where Arthur was filling the sink with water to let the dishes soak. "Hey, can we have dessert in the living room?"

"Sure."

"So I can see the tree?" Eames grinned at him, knowing full well he wouldn't never hear the end about being giddy as a kid.

Arthur turned to him. He smiled but his eyes shone with the same kind of insecurity Eames had spotted before. "Yes."

With something that could best be described as a girlish giggle, Eames dashed over into the living room. About thirty seconds later, he called for Arthur who appeared, kitchen knife in hand.

"What? Don't tell me the tree is on fire."

Eames just shook his head in response. He still couldn't tear his eyes off his surroundings.

Arthur had indeed put up a Christmas tree. How he had managed so all by himself was a mystery as it reached all the way up to the ceiling. It was decorated with red and silver ornaments and other knickknacks. There was even gingerbread hanging from little red strings. The tree sparkled with small twinkling lights, reflecting off the ornaments. It was simple (as Christmas trees went) but it was beautiful.

The rest of the living room looked similar. With a few Christmas decorations, Arthur had managed to turn the otherwise rather plain safe-house into... a home.

"Too much?" Arthur asked after a while. He shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other, tapping the knife against his thigh.

Eames turned to look at him. At the sight of Arthur's obvious unease, something tugged on his insides. It tugged hard. He couldn't help but wrap his arm around his waist, pull him flush against his body and brand his lips with a long, searing kiss. Soon enough, his other hand traveled south, cupping Arthur’s butt, pulling him closer against him.

Arthur all but bit his lip when he gently pushed a knee between his thighs, then Eames pulled back from him.

"This...," he nodded at the room. "This is perfect."

He pushed his knee a little higher, making Arthur squirm against him.

"Can we...," Arthur tried, but his voice was quivering too hard to get a proper sentence out. "Can we not do this now?"

Eames raised an eyebrow at him.

Arthur put a hand on his chest, pushing him back. "This isn't how this was supposed to go."

"Please don't tell me you wrote an itinerary for Christmas."

"Not on paper." Even with on the blinking lights of the Christmas tree, Eames spotted the crimson blush on the other man's cheeks. "What I'm trying to say is... this...," He gestured back and forth between them with the knife. "Whenever we meet it's just this. Which is perfectly fine, don't get me wrong. I just thought that... since it's Christmas... things could be a little different."

Eames looked at him for a long moment. "You didn't need to wave a knife at me to tell me that." Arthur responded while holding his gaze steadily, but he noticed the hint of hurt in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he added then. "I didn't have a proper Christmas in a while. And what you're doing here is just..." Words failed him. He could only hope that the look on his face would tell Arthur exactly what this was. "So... can we have that pudding now?"

 

*

When Arthur returned from the kitchen with two plates and the Christmas pudding, he stopped dead.

"What did you do?"

Eames had pushed the coffee table away from the couch and covered the space in between with all the throw-pillows, comforters and blankets available in the house. He stood in the middle of it all, hands stashed in his pockets.

"I, uhm.... as kids, my sister and I used to camp out in the living room on Christmas. She was convinced that if we stayed up long enough, Santa Claus would show up eventually. Of course, we'd always fall asleep and in the morning, our parents had already put the presents underneath the tree."

Arthur looked at him, mouth slightly agape with surprise. "I didn't know you had a sister."

Eames shrugged. "Well, yeah. She's two years younger than me. Her name is Josey."

"Okay." Arthur nodded but it was obvious that he wasn't okay. Like he had said before, not knowing things made him uncomfortable.

"She's... named after my mother's grand-mother, Josephine."

"You don't have to tell me that."

"No, I don't. But I want to." Eames held out a hand. "Would you care to join me?"

A smile tugged on Arthur's mouth. "As a matter of fact, I would."

They settled down on the heaps of pillows and blankets with the pudding between them.

On the first bite, Arthur's face twisted in disgust. "This... is horrible." He shuddered, putting the plate down. "How you British have survived this long when you have this every year is a mystery."

"Yankee wimp," Eames replied around a fork full of pudding. "Give it another try. It'll grow on you." He took another bite. "Just like me."

"Don't flatter yourself." Arthur's annoyance was betrayed by the sparkle in his eyes. "Fine. One more try." He puffed out a breath before he dug his fork into the pudding again.

"And?"

Arthur rolled his eyes in dismay, chewing. "I hate it when you're right." He already had the fork halfway up to his mouth again.

"I know." Eames beamed at him. "That's what makes it so much fun." He leaned in for a kiss, tasting the spices on Arthur's tongue.

They ate in silence for a while before Eames put his empty plate to the side and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked at Arthur who was absently shoveling the pudding into mouth while staring up at the Christmas tree.

Eames tilted his head to one side, studying the other man, the distant look on his face with the slight smile curling his lips. "You know, I've never seen you like this."

Arthur swallowed, wiping crumbs off the corner of his mouth. "Like what?"

"You look... content." After a second, Eames had found a better word. "Happy."

Clearing his throat, Arthur put the plate down, buying time by brushing imaginary crumbs off his pants. "Well, I _am_ happy." His eyes only briefly flickered up to meet Eames' gaze.

"Arthur, why did you do all this?"

The young man shrugged. "I told you."

"Yes, and I heard you perfectly fine." Eames laid a hand on his shoulder, nudging him slightly so he looked at him. "Now tell me the truth."

Arthur shrugged out of the touch, turning away from him. It took him the better of a minute to answer. "It's just... whatever it is we have, it's always... in between. In between jobs or cities or continents. And just for this once, I wanted something... real."

Slowly, it started to dawn on Eames why Arthur had been so anxious and insecure throughout the entire evening. All the planning and preparations, making sure they'd actually run into each other here, all of this without knowing if he wouldn't just laugh in his face, turn on his heel and leave. Which, as he had to admit, would have been a very likely reaction on any other day. But not tonight, though. Tonight was different.

Eames shifted closer to him, one hand crawling up between his shoulder blades. He could practically feel Arthur's tension beneath his fingertips. Pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, Eames murmured: "You got it."

Arthur turned halfway around to look at him, eyes glittering ever so slightly. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

This time it was Arthur who initiated the kiss. It was slow, deliberate, almost like a first.

Eames could taste the spices on his lips and tongue, the flavor intoxicating him in multiple ways. Slowly, he pulled him back down on the pile of pillows, contact never breaking. He supported his weight on one elbow while his free hand rested lazily on Arthur's stomach, fingers curling over flexing muscles.

The kiss deepened slowly, tongues teasing, dancing, exploring. Arthur hissed into his mouth as Eames tugged the shirt from his waistband, exposing a bit of his stomach, fingernails raking slightly over his skin.

With a devious grin Eames pulled back from him just as he was about to snake his hand all the way underneath Arthur's clothes. "You know what would be great?"

Arthur slowly opened his eyes which were even darker than usual, as through he was coming out of a dream. "Hm?" He ran his tongue over his bottom lip as if savoring a pleasant taste.

"The Christmas Carol."

Arthur pushed himself up on one elbow, looking at him. "You're serious."

"Yes. I'm initiating you into yet another Eames Christmas tradition."

Arthur laughed at that, a wholehearted, warm belly laugh. Eames' grin widened at that. Most of the time, all he ever saw on Arthur's face was indignation and annoyance. Sometimes he would smile one of those lop-sided smiles, and when they were alone, he'd even grin and the dimple in his cheek would show. He could count off one hand the situations were he had seen him laugh out loud.

"You see if it's on, and I’ll change into something a bit more comfortable." Arthur disentangled himself from Eames' grip and rose.

"You own something other than cuffs and collars?" Eames grinned him. "I should've taken Ariadne up on that bet after all."

"You're so funny, Mr. Eames." He narrowed his eyes in mock annoyance before he headed for the stairs.

By the door, he stopped and turned around again, looking at Eames who was looking for the remote control. Their gazes met and something in Arthur's expression made Eames suck in a breath.

"What?" Eames asked, if only to shake of the sudden tension inside him.

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shook his head with a smile. "It's nothing." Without another word, he turned on his heel, then bounded up the stairs.

Eames finally discovered the remote on a small shelf and started flipping through the channels. He didn't even register the first few channels, his mind still trying to process what had just happened. Well, nothing had actually happened but he knew that Arthur had meant to say something. Maybe it had been his lame question that had made him shy away from it. Throughout the entire evening, he had felt this strange tension. Something was looming between them, something unspoken.

"Did you find it?" It hadn't taken Arthur long to change into a pair of sweatpants and a black woolen turtleneck.

Eames turned to him. He immediately noticed the rushed look on Arthur's face. "You didn't just jack off without me, did you? You're all flushed."

"What? I was only gone for a minute."

Eames’ eyebrows went up.

"Oh come on. That was just that one time." Arthur crossed his arms over his chest in defiance.

"And what a glorious time it was." Eames grinned his most shit-eating grin, then returned his attention back to the TV, finally discovering a channel that was showing the "Christmas Carol" version with Patrick Stewart. "Ah, there we go."

Arthur plopped down on their camp again, dragging one of the comforters around his shoulders. "You know, sometimes I really do hate you."

"That's what makes me so special."

Arthur snorted. "Stop flattering yourself and get us some more wine."

Eames inclined his head in a mock bow, then went to retrieve their glasses and the open bottle from the dining room. He handed Arthur one of the glasses, then settled down next to him, intentionally getting a little too close.

Much to his surprise, Arthur didn't even complain but snuggled even closer to him, leaning his head against his shoulder.

Eames looked down at him in surprise but he didn't return the look this time. Their demonstrations of affection were few and far between and even if either of them would let it show, it definitely didn't contain cuddling. Groping and kissing and teasing, yes. Tearing each others clothes off within seconds, most definitely. Cuddling... not so much. Mostly because it was entirely too intimate for whatever it was they shared.

A slow smile spread on Eames' lips as he focused back on the movie where Ebenezer Scrooge was just visited by the ghost of Christmas Present.

They watched the movie in silence, sipping their wine. As Scrooge was about to meet the ghost of Christmas Future, Arthur put away his now empty glass, then snuggled back up to Eames, draping one arm across his stomach.

Almost on its own accord, Eames' arm wrapped around the younger man's shoulders, pulling him even closer.

It wasn't long until Eames noticed Arthur's quiet snoring. He turned down the volume of the movie and shifted into a more comfortable position, careful enough not to wake him. As he looked at Arthur, noticing the awfully adorable slack of his mouth, Eames couldn't help but smile. He had never seen him so relaxed and at ease before.

He pressed a gentle kiss on the top of Arthur's head and quietly wished him a Merry Christmas.

[part 2](http://community.livejournal.com/lovebite_fics/30945.html)


	2. to face unafraid, the plans that we've made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur makes Christmas for Eames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks go out to [](http://laughing-lovers.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://laughing-lovers.livejournal.com/)**laughing_lovers** for battling this fic into submission aka doing the beta work. Any remaining mistakes are my very own.

**Title:** to face unafraid, the plans that we've made  
 **Pairings or Characters:** Arthur/Eames  
 **Genre:** fluffy schmoop with a touch of hotness  
 **Kinks/Prompt:** winter holiday/festival for [](http://schmoop-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[**schmoop_bingo**](http://schmoop-bingo.livejournal.com/)  
 **Setting:** set after the movie; in my verse where they hook up from time to time  
 **Summary:** Arthur makes Christmas for Eames  
 **Rating:** NC-17 for a little bit of language and some sex  
 **Word Count:** 10,500  
 **Warnings:** cuteness and domesticity; it's a Christmas fic for frak's sake, what do you expect? I almost gave myself a cavity writing this.  
 **Disclaimer** Mr. Nolan made them up, I just play with them. The title is from “Winter Wonderland” by Felix Bernard and Richard B. Smith.  
 **Author’s Note:** Huge thanks go out to [](http://laughing-lovers.livejournal.com/profile)[**laughing_lovers**](http://laughing-lovers.livejournal.com/) for battling this fic into submission aka doing the beta work. Any remaining mistakes are my very own.

  


  
Arthur awoke in the middle of the night when a bunched up pillow dug almost painfully into his back. After he pulled it out from under him, he turned on his side.  
  
Eames turned with him, wrapping an arm around his waist, making sure he didn't get too far away from him. He covered Eames' hand with his, then nestled back against the curve of the other man's body.  
  
A smile curled his lips as he drifted back to sleep.  
  
  
*  
  
In the morning, Arthur woke up alone in the makeshift camp. He had one of the comforters wrapped tightly around him and it took him a moment to disentangle himself from it. His senses cleared slowly and he stretched, the joints of his shoulders popping audibly.  
  
The lights on the tree were still blinking; the TV showed some Christmas cartoon, the volume turned to mute.  
  
He sat up and took in his surroundings. The rest of the Christmas pudding still sat on the coffee table along with an empty wine bottle and their glasses. When he looked over the side where Eames had been sleeping next to him, his heart sank a little. He could still feel the other man's warmth linger against the pillows and blankets. He knew that Eames wasn't the guy for a morning after but that he would run out on him on Christmas, after last night...  
  
The clatter of pans startled him.  
  
He rose and grabbed one of the comforters to wrap it around his shoulders as a chill ran down his spine. On sock-clad feet, he padded into the kitchen.  
  
Eames was wearing his apron as he carefully lowered strips of bacon into a pan of sizzling butter.  
  
Arthur brushed a strand of now unruly hair from his face and rubbed the knuckles of one hand over his eyes, both to clear his vision and to make sure he wasn't still dreaming.  
  
"Good morning," Eames said cheerily without even turning around to him.  
  
"I thought you'd left." It was the first thing that had come to Arthur's mind and he regretted it immediately.  
  
Now, Eames did turn around, a touch of hurt playing around his eyes. He stuffed his hands into the front pocket of the apron. "I caught the weather report this morning. There's a blizzard coming in so I went out to stock up on some groceries. I didn't want to wake you."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"There's coffee if you want some." Eames pointed at a thermos on the kitchen counter. "Breakfast should be ready in a few minutes. You like your eggs runny, if I recall correctly?"  
  
"Yeah," Arthur replied lamely. He shifted his weight, wrapping the comforter tighter around his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Eames. I shouldn't have assumed..."  
  
Eames waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry. If I were you...," he paused, lowering his gaze for a second, "I would have assumed, too."  
  
Arthur crossed the room and pressed a short kiss to Eames' mouth. "Thank you," he murmured against the other man's lips. "I'll go freshen up." As he pulled back from him, he could feel a foolish grin on his face. "Your bacon is burning."  
  
When he left the kitchen, he heard Eames let out a cascade of curses and even more clattering of pans. Absently, his hand darted up to his mouth as if touching his fingers to his lips would ensure he wasn't dreaming.  
  
As it turned out, Eames wasn't a half bad cook himself. They had breakfast in the living room, a tray with scrambled eggs, bacon, orange juice and coffee between them, "A Charlie Brown Christmas" on TV.  
  
"Maybe we should go out and build a snowman," Eames suggested suddenly, grinning around his coffee cup.  
  
Arthur all but choked on a piece of bacon. "Okay, now you're pushing it." He swallowed, clearing his throat. "Besides, after the Fischer job, I'd assume you'd hate snow."  
  
"Well, that was just dream snow. I love actual snow."  
  
"So do I," Arthur admitted, his gaze drifting to the window. Clouds blocked out most of the winter sun, dipping the world around in a grayish light. "Makes the world seem more... peaceful." He felt Eames' eyes rest upon him and even in his peripheral vision he could see the smirk on his face. "What?"  
  
"Nothing. I just always pictured you more as the Grinch and less of Santa Claus."  
  
Arthur just shrugged in reply, gaze focused on the new splotches of snow against the window.  
  
"Ah, don't be mad, darling." Eames kissed his temple, then rose and picked up the empty tray. "Speaking of which, you didn't open your present yet."  
  
Arthur turned to him but he was already on his way to the kitchen. As he looked around, he spotted a tiny package beneath the tree, a red ribbon sitting on top of it. He frowned at it. He couldn't recall if it had already been there earlier this morning.  
  
"I told Santa not to wake you as he clambered down the chimney. Clunky ol' bugger." Eames grinned from ear to ear as he leaned against the door frame, arms folded over his chest.  
  
Arthur reached for the package, weighing it in his hand. He stared at the ribbon, then looked up at Eames. "I don't...," he began, but had to pause to rearrange the thoughts reeling through his mind. "I didn't get you anything else."  
  
Eames sighed as he dropped down next to him again. "Arthur," he said in a patient tone usually used for small children. "You listen to me carefully now, alright? Because if you tell anybody that I said what I'm about to say, I will kill you." When Arthur nodded, he continued. "You made Christmas. For me. Without knowing if I'd like it or if I'd even get here. That is the single most amazing thing anyone has ever done for me. So don't you ever worry about getting me a gift, alright?" Again, Arthur only nodded. "Now open it."  
  
Without hesitation, Arthur tore away the ribbon and paper, revealing a little jewelery box. When he opened it, his mouth fell open.  
  
"How did you... Eames, where did you get these?"  
  
Eames shrugged nonchalantly. "I saw you gushing over them at work. So I called in a favor."  
  
"They are..." Words failed him.  
  
Nestled in black velvet was a set of golden cufflinks made of tiny watch movements, their silver and gold gears and levers sparkling in the lights of the Christmas tree.  
  
"So you like them?" Eames asked when he didn't respond for a whole minute.  
  
"Yes. I love you." Arthur's head snapped up. As if the word had had burned his tongue, he corrected himself. "Them." He swallowed but it didn't help the hollow sound of his voice. "These are amazing. Thank you."  
  
Arthur could feel his heartbeat all the way up to his throat as a hot crimson blush erupted on his cheeks. He wanted to look away from Eames, wanted to put as much distance between them as he could. Maybe that would help erase the words.  
  
Only that it wouldn't.  
  
They were out there, and there was no way he could take them back.  
  
If it had been a Freudian slip or not, it didn't matter. He had said them. Out loud. For Eames and the world to hear.  
  
Arthur all but jumped out of his skin when Eames' hand closed over his, snapping the jewelery box shut. He wrenched it from his grip, then tossed it offhandedly onto the coffee table. His other hand went to the back of Arthur's neck, and he pulled him close for a long, slow kiss.  
  
Arthur all but sighed in relief that Eames hadn't said anything, but broke the thick, uncomfortable silence with this kiss. He wouldn't have known how to handle a conversation right now. His mind was still reeling too much with his revelation. He hadn't intended to say those words, not now and especially not like this. What frightened him the most, though, was that he meant them.  
  
Eames leaned into him, pushing him back onto the pillows, covering his body with his own. He supported his weight on one arm while his free hand expertly snaked beneath Arthur's sweater, cold fingertips grazing over heated skin.  
  
Arthur arched into the touch, cursing the fact that Eames could probably feel his heart racing against his fingers. Wrapping his arms around the other man's neck, he pulled him flush against him, trapping the exploring hand between their bodies.  
  
Their kiss deepened, quickened and became more languid at the same time. Arthur's fingers dug into the fabric of Eames' sweater, tugging at the garment to expose some skin.  
  
They had teased each other all throughout the last evening, pushing forward, pulling back. A little kissing here, a little touching there, but nothing more. Now, all the pent up tension was bubbling up between them, trying to burst free.  
  
Arthur wrapped his leg around Eames' hip, pulling him close, letting him feel his need, his desire. He wanted more, wanted all, wanted to feel, smell, taste and touch him. Maybe he even wanted him more than he ever had before.  
  
"Hold that thought," Eames murmured against the side of his neck, then pulled away from him to rise.  
  
Breathlessly, Arthur looked up at him, wondering if he'd actually said that out loud. He must have, since Eames responded to his questioning look with a cheeky grin, then dashed up the stairs.  
  
"Oh fuck." Arthur ran a hand over his face, smoothing his hair back. His entire body was tingling, longing for Eames to return.  
  
He struggled out of his sweater and as he slumped back onto the pile of pillows, his hand immediately slipped beneath the waistband of his sweats. His mouth fell open as he wrapped his fingers around his already hard cock, wishing it was Eames' hand rather than his own.  
  
"Look at you..." Eames reappeared in the door, toying with a bottle of lube. He had his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth in a naughty leer.  
  
Not trusting his vocal chords to come up with what he was actually meaning to say, Arthur only held out a hand, beckoning Eames to join him again.  
  
Eames tossed the lube bottle next to him, discarding his sweater and socks before he knelt down between his outstretched legs. He leaned over the younger man with one hand next to his head to support his weight. The fingers of the other trailed along Arthur's arm down to were it disappeared beneath his waistband.  
  
Light as a feather, Arthur's free hand ghosted over the black swirls on Eames' shoulder before he cupped the side of his face and pulled him into a kiss that stifled his moan.  
  
Eames' fingers were wrapped tightly around his own, following the pace of his strokes. He kept the rhythm even as Arthur pulled his hand away to unbutton Eames' pants. As he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband, he felt Eames tense against him, almost biting his tongue.  
  
They could probably get each other off just like that within a few minutes but Arthur didn't want that. He wanted to draw this out, wanted to enjoy every minute of it, afraid of what would happen afterwards.  
  
His admission still lingered between them but he knew they would have face it eventually. Of course, he could always pass it up as a slip of the tongue, as some spur of the moment thing, but he knew that Eames wouldn't believe it. As much as he hated it at times, they knew each other better than anybody else, even if neither of them had admitted it yet. Eames would see right through him and if he tried to lie about it, he would only make it worse, make it more awkward than it already was.  
  
Using one leg as leverage, Arthur rolled them over, sitting astride Eames' thigh. He looked down at him, at those blue-gray eyes, and he saw something there that he had never seen there before. Hints of it, yes, little flickers that disappeared within a fleeting second, but this time he was willing to believe it was real.  
  
He leaned down to steal a kiss off the crooked smile on Eames' lips, then let his mouth and tongue trail down the side of his side, over the rough stubble on his cheek and neck to his collarbone.  
  
Tilting his head back, Eames gave into him, while his own hands trailed nonsense patterns over his shoulders and back. His fingers raking through the short hairs on the back of his neck, over that one sensitive spot that elicited an instantaneous moan from Arthur.  
  
Arthur felt Eames' chuckle more than he could actually hear. He had given away his one weak spot on their first night and ever since then, Eames enjoyed it far too much to see him squirm.  
  
Taking his immediate revenge, Arthur bit down hard on his nipple.  
  
Eames bucked against him, his grip on Arthur's hair tightening briefly. "You cheeky little bugger," he said through a grin, eyes shining in a dark gray now.  
  
"Tit for tat." Arthur matched his smile, his tongue tracing the outline of the Venetian masks inked into Eames' skin. Again, his lips closed around Eames' nipple. This time, he sucked it gently into his mouth, tongue flickering over the hardened bud. He couldn't help but grin at the effect his ministration had on Eames. He moved his kisses, sucks and nibbles to the other side, while his hand traveled south again.  
  
Eames arched into his touch as he closed his fingers around his cock. With his thumb, he traced the pulsing vein on the underside up the small dribble of precum then back down again.  
  
Slowly, he trailed open-mouthed kisses down Eames’ chest and stomach, following the line of hair down from his navel. He tugged on his pants until he got them down over his hips.  
  
Eames let out some crude British curse word when Arthur closed his lips around the tip of his cock, letting his precum coat his tongue.  
  
Arthur knew full well how much Eames enjoyed watching him, watching him suck his dick, stroke his own or finger-fuck himself. It gave him a thrill and a unique boost of confidence he got nowhere else.  
  
He looked up and met Eames' gaze, his eyes dark with desire. A satisfied smirk curled around his cock as he went down on it. The tip hit the back of his throat, making him gag ever so slightly before he swallowed around it.  
  
Eames fisted the pillow at his side, hips arching up from the blanket. "If you do that again, this will be over really soon," he managed in between moans.  
  
"And we don't want that." Arthur crawled up his body again, planting a hard kiss on Eames' mouth, letting him have a bit of his own taste.  
  
"The bloody hell we don't." Eames cupped his face, hanging on to the kiss while turning them over again.  
  
When they broke apart, Arthur was gasping for air. He ran a hand over Eames' face, making sure he got his full attention. When he spoke, his voice was low and sincere. "Go slow, okay?" He felt heat rising into his cheeks at the request. "It's been a while."  
  
Eames smiled at him, an honest, gentle smile he rarely showed. "It's been too long." When he leaned down to Arthur, their kiss was slow and tender. His hand trailed down his body, fingers ghosting over flushed skin before dipping between his legs.  
  
Arthur sucked in a breath when the tip of Eames’ finger gently brushed over his opening, teasing the sensitive skin. He pushed back against the carefully probing finger, then hesitated to adjust to it.  
  
They never broke the kiss while Eames gently worked his finger into him. Instead it only deepened, became long and languid as though it would be the last.  
  
When Eames added a second finger, cautiously spreading him upon, Arthur almost bit his tongue, moaning into his mouth. He spread his legs to give Eames' hand better access.  
  
At the third finger, his head fell back and he finally broke the kiss, arching against the intruding digits. He couldn't possible wait any longer, he wanted more, wanted all. Fumbling for the bottle of lube, he looked at Eames. When their gazes met, he nodded ever so slightly, letting him know he was ready.  
  
Eames answered him with a kiss, pulled his hand away and struggled out of his pants. He got up on his knees, settling between Arthur's legs. He took the bottle of lube, squirted some of it into his palm and spread it over his cock. Then he pressed his slick fingers against the tight ring of muscles, preparing him.  
  
Arthur pulled his knees up to his body to open himself up, yet he still gasped when Eames started pushing into him. With only the tip of Eames' cock inside him, they hesitated for a second before Arthur pushed back against him.  
  
A sweet mixture of pleasure and pain lanced up his body as he felt himself being filled inch by inch. It had been months since they had been together last and it took him a moment to adjust.  
  
Eames' hand brushed over his furrowed brow, making him look up at him. "You okay?"  
  
Arthur could only nod, biting his lip hard enough to leave marks when Eames hit that one sweet spot inside him. Blood rushed in his ears and for a second, he feared he might come right then and there.  
  
He wrapped one leg around Eames’ waist, as though trying to keep him inside him, as he began to move with slow, gentle thrusts.  
  
Eames propped his hands on both sides of Arthur's body, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His voice was a low rumble in his chest, thick and heavy. "Look at me."  
  
Slowly, Arthur lifted his gaze from their their bodies met to Eames' eyes and the expression on the other man's face almost scared him. He had seen rage, wrath and pure hatred there as well as deep and dark desire. He had seen him grin, snarl and leer but this was something new. He wasn't sure, with Eames he never could be, but the hope for the unspoken words he saw in that gaze made him choke. He almost believed to see a tiny nod before Eames leaned down for another kiss.  
  
Their pace quickened by a fraction. Arthur's fingers raked over ink-swirls and flexing muscles, trying to hold on, not only to the other man's body but also to this very moment.  
  
They writhed together, seeking friction against each other, hands exploring, lips whispering sweet little nothings in between stifled moans.  
  
Arthur knew neither of them would be able to last much longer, he could feel the tension in Eames' body as well as in his own. So he took a hold of Eames' wrist and guided his hand between their bodies.  
  
"Please," he breathed, closing both their fists around his cock, setting a slow, deliberate pace.  
  
Eames kissed another plea off his lips, then brushed his hand away to encircle his length alone. His thrusts quickened, hitting that sweet spot inside over and over again.  
  
Arthur's eyes flickered shut. Heat pooled in his belly, ready to burst free. He rolled his hips to meet Eames' thrusts and his hand, thriving for every little piece of friction.  
  
"Look at me." Eames' voice penetrated the haze of delicious pleasure and it took Arthur most of his willpower to do as he was told.  
  
He came when their gazes met, the look on the other man's face pushing him over the edge. Stuttering nonsense words, he stared up at him, losing himself in those storm-gray eyes. Some part of him wanted to repeat those words, wanted to tell him all the other things he was otherwise afraid to even think. Thankfully, most part of his brain had shortened out when he started to spill himself over Eames’ hand.  
  
It took Eames only a few more thrusts before he came as well. His body tensed, muscles flexing beneath the swirls of ink on his shoulders and arms. He leaned his forehead against Arthur's, hot breaths mingling.  
  
Arthur's hand ghosted over Eames' back, fingers raking gently over sweat-coated skin, as if trying to make sure he was really there.  
  
They rode their high out against each other, each little movement sending another shiver down Arthur's spine until he was completely spent. They stayed like that for a while, arms, legs and body entangled, kissing slow and deep and full of unspoken truths.  
  
Slowly, Eames pulled out of him and Arthur couldn't help but moan at the loss of the familiar weight on top of him, feeling suddenly emptier than he ever had before.  
  
As though it had spoken aloud again, Eames lay down next to him, pulling him tightly against him, making sure they never really broke contact. His fingers trailed seemingly nonsense patterns on his shoulder and back, and if Arthur didn't know Eames' sometimes atrocious spelling, he could swear he could make out words.  
  
Neither of them spoke for a while and Arthur almost dozed off, sated and exhausted, when Eames cleared his throat, startling him.  
  
"Arthur, I...uhm," he paused as though recollecting his thoughts. "I love those cufflinks, too, by the way."  
  
Arthur pulled away from him, propping himself up on one elbow. "You do?" He cringed inwardly at how young and fragile he sounded, knowing deep down that it would only take one word from Eames to break him.  
  
"Oh Arthur..." Eames sighed, a mixture of impatience and frustration. He ran a hand through Arthur's hair, brushing an unruly strand from his face, his thumb grazing his raised brow. An almost sympathetic smile curled the corner of his mouth. "So smart, and you still can't tell."  
  
Arthur all but shied back in defiance. "Well." He swallowed the cocktail of hurt, hope, and confusion. For some reason, anger bubbled up inside him. Anger at Eames for his nonchalance, and anger at himself for letting those words affect him that much. "You're a man of pretense. How am I supposed to tell you're not just saying it because it's Christmas and we're probably stuck here for a couple of days?"  
  
He regretted the harsh tone of his words as soon as he saw the hurt on Eames' face.  
  
Eames turned on his side, his head propped on one hand, looking at him with more honesty than Arthur could possible bear. His voice was serious, the words simple.  
  
"Because with you, I don't pretend."  
  
  
*  
  
Eames snored quietly, wrapped up in one of the blankets, hugging a pillow tightly to his chest. After the third time, he had fallen asleep almost immediately.  
  
If physically possible, each time had been slower than before, more relaxed, at ease, gentle and slow.  
  
Arthur hated the saccharine-sweet sound of the words but yeah, they had made love that morning. If somebody had told him yesterday, when he had stood in the kitchen, mixing the cookie batter, that things would turn out like this, he probably would have snorted at that person in their face. He still couldn't believe what was happening; it seemed so unreal that he had thought about reaching for his totem on more than one occasion.  
  
Amidst it all, an idea had formed in his head. He could almost hear Cobb's words, the little speech he gave clients when he introduced them to their business. About how ideas were like viruses, spreading inside someone's mind. If that were true, and Arthur knew it was, he was infected and there was no cure in sight.  
  
That realization came to him as he sat, with a blanket around his shoulders, beneath the Christmas tree, looking at the tiny levers and mechanisms of the clock-movement cufflinks. Those damned cufflinks he had seen online while doing research. They had started all of this, kicked loose an avalanche he couldn't stop. Some part of him hated them, the other loved every thing they stood for.  
  
"Arthur?" Eames stirred behind him, a bristle of blankets and pillows against naked skin.  
  
He glanced over his shoulder and couldn't help but smile at how awfully adorable Eames looked, hair disheveled, eyes blinking tiredly.  
  
"Shouldn't you be as exhausted as I am?" Eames sat up and shifted closer to him, resting his chin on Arthur's shoulder with his breath hot against his bare skin.  
  
Arthur let out a long breath, then pulled away from him, bringing an arm's length of distance between them. "Eames, I've been thinking." He sounded more serious than he had intended, his own tone startling him a little.  
  
"There's a surprise."  
  
Leave it to Eames to break the tension with a quip. For the first time in quite a while, Arthur was thankful for it. That way, he could just roll his eyes at him and continue.  
  
"I know this comes as a bit of a surprise and I know that's it probably too early and I'd understand if you said no, but..." He held out the little jewelery box to him, blinking Christmas lights gleaming off the cufflinks. "Would you keep one of them?"  
  
Eames stared at him. For this, he had no quip. Instead, he opened his mouth to reply but closed it again. On the second try, he found his voice: "Are you asking me to..."  
  
"I guess I am," Arthur cut him off, suddenly afraid to hear those words out loud. Heat rose into his cheeks and for a second he thought he might faint. He puffed out a shuttering breath. "This is probably the most irrational and inconsiderate thing I have ever done and it makes me nauseous and I don't know if it would be any less awkward if I weren't naked but..."  
  
Eames covered his lips with his fingers to shut him up. "Yes."  
  
Now it was Arthur's turn to stare at him. He wasn't sure he had heard him right, the rush of his own blood way too loud in his ears.  
  
A slow smile curled the corner of Eames' mouth before he repeated his answer and pulled Arthur into his arms.  
  
  
*  
  
The blizzard still hadn't come in yet, despite all the apocalyptic warnings on every channel. A few snowflakes fell against the window, slithering down the glass, but otherwise, it was a quiet Christmas day.  
  
Arthur stood by the window, looking out in the suburban neighborhood. A few cars rolled by, one of them pulled up to the house on the other side of the street. A family of four clambered out and the father went around to the trunk to retrieve a huge laundry basket full of a colorfully wrapped presents. He put it down by his feet to reach up and close the trunk. When he turned, he spotted Arthur and nodded in greeting. Arthur raised a hand in return.  
  
"You're making friends with the neighbors, I see."  
  
Arthur turned halfway when Eames came down the stairs, adjusting his necktie. "Can't hurt. It helps avoiding suspicion." He looked the other man up and down, one eyebrow quirked. "You look nice."  
  
Eames held out his hands as if to present himself. After a long hot shower, he had dressed in navy blue slack and dress-shirt, completing the look with a matching tie. "You're not the only one who can play dress-up."  
  
Arthur scowled at him. "You can't just take it as a compliment, can you?"  
  
"Where would be the fun in that?" Eames stepped up to him, wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. "You ready?"  
  
A Christmas service was being held in a small chapel a few blocks from the house and they had decided to go. Neither of them were religious or spiritualistic in any way but it was Christmas after all. Some traditions were stronger than belief.  
  
"Only waiting for you." Arthur smirked at their reflection in the window.  
  
"Don't you get cheeky with me." Eames closed a hand around Arthur's chin, turning him halfway so he could kiss him on the mouth.  
  
Arthur caught his wrist. "You're wearing it." His finger brushed over the golden cufflink on Eames' left sleeve.  
  
Eames shrugged. "Of course. I said yes, didn't I?"  
  
"Well yeah, but..." Arthur wished he could do something against the insecure tone of his voice. "I didn't think you'd... wear it in public."  
  
Eames pulled out of his grip, then put his hands on his shoulders, nudging him backwards until he bumped into the back of the couch. "You listen now, alright? I am here, aren't I? I said _yes_." He stressed the last word, squeezing Arthur's shoulders to make his point. "So we go out there now. And when the soccer moms ask me over cookies and tea who that dashing young man at my side it, I'll tell them: that's my fiance, the man who proposed to me with this very cufflink, the man I love."  
  
Something white hot and brilliant was about to burn its way through Arthur's chest, something so pure that it almost knocked him off his feet.  
  
But Eames wasn't done yet. He put a finger beneath Arthur's chin, making him focus. He put an emphasis on every word, making them perfectly clear. "Arthur, I am in this."  
  
Arthur never cried but now, tears were threatening to roll down his cheeks. He blinked a few times before he spoke. "I am, too."  
  
Eames sighed in relief. "That's good to know." While his tone was warm, Arthur could still make out the touch of hurt behind the words. "Because, you see, you're always so confident about everything you do. Almost annoyingly so. So I think it's about time to drop the insecurity act and be confident about this, too."  
  
Arthur shrugged. "I guess... with you, I don't pretend, either."  
  
Eames kissed him, hard and almost bruising. Then he pulled him tightly against his chest, whispering those three words over and over into Arthur's ear.  
  
With his face buried against Eames' neck, Arthur didn't bother to wipe off his tears. He just let them soak into the collar of Eames' shirt just as the words were soaking into him.  
  
They had traveled all over the world, alone and together. They had met in the dingiest motels, the most pompous hotel suites. They had stolen a few hours in between jobs and flights before separating for months without hearing from each other. Somehow they had always found back to each other but it had always been just fleeting moments without any form of commitment.  
  
And now they were plunging head first into something, something so real that it frightened Arthur to the bone. And yes, he had never felt any more at home than he did now. Right here, right in this very moment. With snowflakes against the window. With Rosemary Clooney singing about winter wonderlands. With Eames.  
  
Church bells chimed outside, calling last-minute guests to the service.  
  
Slowly, Eames pulled back from him. "We're going to be late."  
  
"Grab our coats, will you? I'll be a minute."  
  
"Of course." Eames gave him another peck on the cheek, then went to get their clothes.  
  
Arthur reached into his pocket for the small red die. He twisted it in his fingers, then rolled it on the window sill.  
  
Six side up. Just as it should be.  
  
"You ready, darling?" Eames stuck his head into the living room, his parka zipped all the way close, a blue and white striped scarf around his neck.  
  
Arthur snatched up the die and stashed it back into his pocket, grinning brightly as he slipped into his coat that Eames held out for him.  
  
They were about to head out the door, when Arthur grabbed him by the scarf and pulled him into a kiss. Beaming from ear to ear, he hooked his arm into Eames' as they made their way through the snow.  
  
"By the way... Merry Christmas, Mr. Eames."  
  


_fin_

  
  
  
  
_**A/N** Thank you very much if you've made it all the way through. If you're interested in the type of cufflinks I had in mind, I found [these](http://www.cufflinks.com/14gowamocu.html) online and I think they are just perfect._  
  
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